Roddy

By Joan Wilson

Roddy – that’s what they called him

From birth, right to his grave.

He was six foot six inches tall

So big and strong and brave.

He was one of the finest fathers

And he loved us all so much.

He always had time for others

And he had that special touch.

He tickled our toes in the morning

Waking us to a brand new day,

With fruit from his own garden

“Come and get it my darlings,” he’d say.

He was such a good provider,

He always farmed his land.

Our cupboards were never empty

All stocked by his very own hand.

He taught us from early childhood

To respect others above ourselves,

To cherish what God had given us

Our freedom to enjoy our wealth.

And wealth didn’t mean money

For there was little of that.

It was our sunshine, sand and warm blue sea,

All ours to enjoy, and it was totally free.

He swam with us off the iron shore

I tell you, we enjoyed it all so much.

Swimming and diving with our father

In those days we were never got bored.

Work hard and plan your day

Was his fatherly and friendly advice

As the sweat poured from his brow.

“Hard work never kill nobody

Take a look at me – Inspector Roddy.”

He was serious but also very humorous

And he loved to chat a while

With friends under our plum tree

And a fresh brewed cup of coffee.